


A Strange and Beautiful Companion

by TheSanguineRose



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Blood Drinking, Explicit Consent, F/F, Female Apprentice (The Arcana), Gift Fic, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-01-13 03:20:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21237284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSanguineRose/pseuds/TheSanguineRose
Summary: "I won't let you down."Nadia smiled, a closed mouthed quirk of her lips, as her hand cupped Laurel's cheek, thumb running over the flushed skin.Her lips parted. "I'm sure you won't," she said, and Laurel's eyes caught a flash of her eyetooth in a flicker of candlelight, resting on the swell of Nadia's bottom lip.





	A Strange and Beautiful Companion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueenofEden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenofEden/gifts).

> I wanted to write Arcana fic for Halloween but also for my friend's birthday? So two birds one stone.
> 
> Incredibly late posting, but finished ages ago. Just took 500 years to edit.
> 
> Vampires are sexy <3

“Here we are, my dear. Are you sure you'll be alright?”

Laurel wondered the same thing as she stepped from the carriage and found herself soaked to the bone with rain. The coachman winced as it fell down in sheets, trying in vain to cover himself with his coat.

“I believe so,” Laurel called out as a particularly strong gust of wind tried to blow up her skirts. She yelped, reaching to balance the bag on her shoulder and hold her skirts below her knees. When she gathered herself, she took in the looming castle before her - the tall iron wrought gate that rose to a point and the ivy covered cobblestone walls that surrounded sprawling grounds. Its spires kissed the skyline, its presence overbearing and ominous. Overgrown rose bushes pressed through the edges of the gate, poorly maintained and yet in full bloom. A stained glass window proudly sat front and center above the entrance, the faded visage of a heart barely visible through the rain and fog. Admittedly, were it not so dulled by the horrible weather, Laurel would have taken the time to enjoy it.

However, as the rain continued to pour on her and her belongings, she began to feel vaguely like a drenched cat, and so did not appreciate the architecture as voraciously as she would have otherwise. Instead, she shrugged and gave it a “Hm” of approval.

“You best get in, then,” cried the coachman as the wind threatened to knock him from his perch. “You’ll catch your death out here!”

“Thank you for the ride!” Laurel called back. The coachman nodded as if he didn’t understand what she said over the noise, and tipped his hat to her. He whipped the reins with a harsh snap, too hard and too quick against the horses backs, spooking them in his desperation to escape the cold.

As the carriage left, the wheels stalled in the muddy road, spraying it up and into the air, against the walls, and onto Laurel’s skirts.

“Oh, for--” She huffed, trying to brush and smack the muck from herself to no avail. She pushed rain soaked hair from her face, steeling herself with a heavy inhale. “All right...that’s fine. That’s perfectly fine. I’m just a little bit muddy, I’m sure the Countess will understand.” she muttered to herself as she pulled open the iron gate with surprising ease.

“You’re just going to walk up there,” she said, making her way up the walkway, the stone and gravel and grass made loose from rain, her heels catching just enough to make her gait uneven.

“You’re going to knock on the door, and you’re going to present your letter and say-- oh!” she yelped as her heel caught on a particularly jagged stone, throwing her off balance. Laurel took a few steps, flailing her arms for a moment before pulling her skirts up so as not to trip over those as well, and caught herself, knees bowed and dangerously close to throwing her into more mud.

“Not today!” She cried as she straightened up. Laurel took another deep breath, and began again.

“You’re going to walk up there. You’re going to knock on the door, you’re going to present your letter and say,” She stood proudly against the rain. “ ‘I, Laurel Lobban the Magician, have been summoned by the Countess Nadia Satrinava to investigate the source of these terrible storms.’ Yes. Perfect. Just like that.”

Laurel reached back up to her shoulder, to the strap of her bag, and froze. Her arm was unnaturally light, the pull of ancient tomes and parchment and inkwells and potions against her muscles gone, as was the bag. While Laurel had not landed into a terrible puddle, rife with mud and far deeper than it looked, her bag certainly had. The top of it seemed to cry for help as it poked out of the puddle, rain pattering against the worn leather in a wailing rhythm.

By the time Laurel made it to the door, she had divulged her bag of her most precious contents at risk of being sullied by the forces of nature. She held the letter in her shaking hand, tomes balanced awkwardly in her arms as she gave up on knocking and kicked at the door with one dirtied boot.

The thunder that crashed swallowed her curse as the boot left a fine mark against the clean, stark white of the door. The door knocker, a pleasant little cherub that seemed up to mischief, judged her decisions as it hung, taunting her inability to use it what with her arms full.

The door opened, the wind somehow became louder, stronger, tossing Laurel’s hair, her skirts, flipping the letter this way and that way, to the point where it almost tore. Without waiting to see who opened the door for her, Laurel pressed her way in, gasping as she looked up into the foyer. She caught a glimpse of a stairwell, the faintest hint of a figure at the top of it, before a gust of wind slammed the door behind her, plummeting Laurel into darkness.

“Oh,” Laurel said to the darkness.

The darkness, naturally, did not respond. It just sat there, silent but for the measured drip drip drip of water against the ground beneath Laurel’s feet. The tile clicked, echoed as she took a few tentative steps forward. Unable to reach out, she toed along in pitch black, the muffled sound of a storm shaking through the manor. She took another step, waiting for her eyes to adjust even somewhat, and called out, throwing her script to the wayside, “Hello?”

In response, the darkness threw open a door to her left with a bang as it jostled on its hinges. Once again, Laurel’s curse was drowned out by the noise of circumstance, the thunder rolling through the walls. A subtle orange glow teased its way through the newly opened doorway, and Laurel only paused for a moment before trudging over, new and exciting squelching accompanying the tap of her boots.

Laurel surveyed the sitting room, the only light coming from a barely kindled fireplace that spread jagged shadows over the walls. It reflected gold on the unlit sconces, deepened the darkened lacquered wood of the tables that housed dried and dead flowers. A sideboard left empty sat in mid-service by the fainting couch in the corner, tucked next to fully covered windows. Bookshelves lined the far wall giving safe harbor to two arm chairs blanketed in a thin layer of dust. It appeared that the only piece of furniture that didn't come with a layer of dust on it was a modest piano against the wall. The bench was tucked away, but sheet music sat ready to be read on the stand.

But the piece de resistance, the centerpiece of the room, sat right above the fireplace in a golden frame.

Despite the layer of filth, she didn’t dare sit on any of the furniture for fear of ruining it as she dripped a trail of water and sludge behind her. She instead walked closer to the golden framed portrait, and also the warmth of the small fire.

A man with a crown of golden hair lounged in a plush red armchair - not unlike the one next to the bookshelf - his blue eyes cold as they stared out from the painting. He wore an officer’s uniform, white and well pressed, gold lining his shoulders and a red sash bearing the fruits of his labors - medals and pins from battles won. The grin on his face was ingenuine - smug - the air of vanity filling the room the longer Laurel looked at it.

Her nose scrunched up in distaste, until she saw the shadowed figure standing behind Lucio, their long fingered hand resting on top of the armchair, a ruby crested wedding band on their ring finger. Laurel squinted, trying to get the finer details in the painting, then adjusted the tomes in her arms as her magic reacted to the fire. It drew it upwards, filling the room with a burst of light that temporarily blinded her. When it drew back down, Laurel investigated the painting once more.

The woman standing behind the man was tall, regal in a way that the man tried to emulate and failed. Her hair poured down her back, a river of purple against the reds and whites they wore otherwise. Her skin glowed, her eyes were red and stern, her chin held high as she stood above her husband.

“Do you like it?” Laurel heard from behind her. This time, the thunder did not cover her curse, a resounding, “Fuck!” echoing through the room as she turned, dropping one of her tomes on the ground.

The woman from the portrait stared back at her, hair instead piled atop her head in an array of crowned braids, draped in black silks that clung to her figure. Her hands were draped in gold bands, but devoid of any rubies, Laurel noted as the woman stepped into the room and stood beside her to gaze up at the portrait as well.

“C-Countess!” Laurel cried when she approached, and tried to curtsy, dropping another tome.

“I had it commissioned ages ago,” the Countess said as if Laurel had not reacted to her at all, eyes fixed on the portrait. “It was to be a record of our partnership - our strength as leaders,” her lips tilted up in a smirk, fond and nostalgic. "He had a fit the moment I told him it was a portrait for the two of us. He tried to have the court painter executed for not telling him, but he got over it with some...persuasion.” The smirk faded into a neutral expression, though the remnants of emotion danced in her eyes.

Laurel nodded slowly as she eyed the book on the ground. Slowly, she began to kneel to the ground, arm reaching for her book.

“It turned out very well in the end, though, don’t you think?” The Countess shifted her gaze to Laurel, red eyes dark and searching as Laurel stood up straight. As their eyes met, Laurel felt her heart speed up in ways utterly unrelated to the chill in her bones. She felt dizzy as the scent of jasmine washed over her, made her mouth dry, her limbs heavy. The Countess quirked her eyebrow, her features only more defined and beautiful close up, eyes bright as garnets in the firelight. Overwhelmed at the sight of her, Laurel felt her mouth move, and her voice came out in a breathy sigh.

“Yes, you’re beautiful.”

When the Countess’ grin grew into one that crinkled her eyes, the bridge of her nose, Laurel spluttered, face burning as she corrected herself. “It - it’s beautiful. I mean you’re also beautiful, but…”

“Thank you,” the Countess said, and Laurel's slip up must have pulled her from whatever nostalgic trip she had been on. She gave Laurel a once over, eyes roving her from top to bottom. Her eyebrows raised in surprise as she and Laurel both looked at the dripping mess that was Laurel's dress. Laurel felt herself best in embarrassment at the puddle that had formed under her while the Countess simply tsked in displeasure.

“Oh my,” the Countess said, and tilted her head, placing a cold hand on Laurel's already chilled cheek “You’re positively soaked through.” 

Laurel froze. "It...yes, it's very rainy."

The Countess blinked, then laughed once more, a small sound. "Yes, yes it is." She stopped and hummed thoughtfully as her thumb traced Laurel's cheekbone. “It has been quite some time since I’ve received a guest. I apologize. I hadn’t even considered.” 

Before Laurel could react properly to the touch, the Countess left her, flitting to the doorway. She grabbed one of the unlit candelabras on her way and held it out to Laurel, who shook off the lingering feel of her touch and lit the dusty candles with a quick flick of her wrist.

The Countess nodded, satisfied, and turned away.

“Come with me.”

********

Laurel glanced around the hallway, lit only by the flickering flames of the candelabra in the Countess' well manicured hand.

The Countess seemed to glide, her steps swift and certain, the measured click click click of her heels the only indication that she was in fact taking them. Her heels clicked on the darkened marble, the fine silks draped across her body, trailing into a small train behind her. Laurel tried not to be distracted, her eyes focused pointedly above The Countess' shoulder. And yet...Black suits her, Laurel couldn’t help but think. 

With the pace she kept, Laurel would have expected the flames to blow out, yet they did not wither as she led Laurel down another hallway. What a tangled maze of a place - windows covered with darkened drapery, garish reds a contrast on the walls. Laurel snuck to one of the windows lining the hallway, moved the tomes into one arm, and peeked through the heavy curtain, curiosity getting the best of her. Laurel blinked up at the moon, hanging heavy in a cloudless sky. Too cloudless, even if the storm had ceased quickly, though Laurel could have sworn she heard the crack of thunder just as they were ascending the stairs.

The footsteps ceased.

"Laurel," the Countess called. Laurel drew her gaze to the Countess instantly, a blush filling her cheeks.

"My apologies, Countess," she said, breathless as she caught up to her, tomes clutched protectively to her chest. With an amused smile, the Countess turned away.

"You are a guest in my home, Laurel," her voice was warmth in the chill of the castle as it curled around the sound of Laurel's name and settled somewhere deep in Laurel's chest. "You could call me Nadia. I would not mind."

Laurel blinked once, twice, three times. "My apologies," she said again once she found her voice. "Nadia." It felt wrong in her mouth- no not wrong. It felt like something holy, something precious. Who was she to refer to Nadia without her title preceding it?

The thoughts were quickly dismissed when Nadia smiled at her over her shoulder. "You are forgiven." She stopped at last in front of a rich mahogany door, motioning for Laurel to open it.

It swung open with nary a creak, the old hinges newly oiled to a shine, and revealed a luxurious bathroom, the clawed tub in the center nearly drawing Laurel in like a siren after the day's travels.

Laurel took a hesitant step forward, then her eyes met Nadia’s, and she nodded her assent.

The bathroom was already warm with steam as Laurel walked to its center. The bath was drawn and jeweled vials of soaps sat on the tray sat firmly across its middle.

“You can dress in the bedroom, through that door, when you’re finished,” Nadia said, and Laurel nodded slowly. She set down her bag and her books carefully on a small table near the bath.

“Once you’ve bathed, it would please me if you would meet me for dinner,” Nadia chimed from behind her, just inside the doorway. “I would like to discuss the...unfortunate circumstance in which we find the village, but first and foremost,” Laurel caught Nadia’s eyes rove over her form, an indiscernible look upon her face. “I would like for you to be properly dressed and fed.”

“Oh,” Laurel said. “Thank...thank you?”

“Dear Laurel,” Nadia said as she turned from her. “There is no need to thank me.”

The instant the door closed, Laurel divested herself of her mudcaked clothes, practically kicking her boots across the room like the offensive garments they were. Only when her clothes sat in a sad, wet pile did Laurel finally go to the bath, dragging her fingertips along the steaming water.

The warmth filled her bones when she sunk in, feeling the sweat and rain melt from her skin easily as butter. She perused the vials, opening the tops and sniffing each one - she settled lavender, ears red as she remembered the wash of lavender that accompanied her summons - that followed Nadia wherever she went.

By the end of her bath, the entire room smelled of lavender.

As instructed by Nadia, Laurel pressed her way into the adjoined bedroom, surprised at the brightness of it. It was easily the brightest room Laurel had come across, a chandelier hovering high above her head and spreading tendrils of light into every nook and cranny. What got her attention next was the dress that lay spread on the bed. The green silk was embroidered with delicate black beading, neckline high and sleeves lined with pearl buttons. Had Nadia herself not implored her to dress in it, she would have hesitated to even touch it, but this was hers. She had to remind herself, again, this was hers.

Laurel was still adjusting the buttons at her wrists by the time she made her way down to the dining room, the pearls not quite wanting to make their way through the holes. She fought with them a moment more, hovering just outside the doorway, when Nadia’s voice cut through the air, “Dear Laurel, you seem to be fighting a losing battle with those pearls.” With a gasp, Laurel turned to see Nadia peeking over her shoulder with a barely contained smile.

“Oh, no,” Laurel replied, still fighting her losing battle with the pearls. “I can get it, don’t worry yourself, Counte--Nadia!”

“Please,” Nadia said, eyebrows raised. “Let me help you. It wouldn’t do for my guest to have an undressed wrist at dinner, would it?”

Without waiting for an answer, Nadia’s hand rested on Laurel’s, gently urging it from the stubborn buttons. Laurel gasped quietly, Nadia’s hands as cold as ice upon her bare wrist. Nadia’s fingers snuck under the sleeve, straightening the two sides and making quick work of the buttons.

“There,” she said, satisfied. Her hands stayed clasped upon Laurel’s, and she looked her up and down.

“You look lovely.”

Laurel felt her mouth move, words stuck in her throat as Nadia’s hands left hers and motioned to the archway that led to her dining room in a smooth gesture.

“Shall we?”

“I suppose we shall,” Laurel muttered to herself, urging her face to cool off.

She should have expected the dining room to be as dark and mysterious and beautiful as the rest of the manor, but it still surprised her. The table filled the entire room, and yet there was only one place set at one head of the table, surrounded by an array of hot soups, seared meats, vegetables and fruits of every color - and a bottle of wine set at the other. 

Laurel began to make her way towards the wine bottle, when Nadia brushed past her and motioned for Laurel to sit at her opposite - with the mountain of food.

“Countes--Nadia,” she said. “What will you eat?”

“Don’t worry about me, I had my supper earlier. Sit.”

Laurel sat.

"Now, I normally do not call upon the services of Magicians," Nadia said, uncorking the wine with a pop. “But I have heard wonderful things about you.”

“Have you?” Laurel glanced down at the number of forks and spoons and knives that bracketed her plate. Quietly, she wondered, not for the first time, where Nadia’s staff was. There was no way the Countess had prepared all of this - or perhaps she had. She did seem resourceful.

“Laurel Lobban, the Magician,” Nadia said, pouring herself a hefty goblet full of wine. Laurel started at the use of her full name, even more so hearing it all from Nadia’s tongue. "A potion seller by trade, but certainly you provide other...services to those who patron your shop, do you not?”

“Erm--”

“You haven’t eaten anything, yet,” Nadia quipped, her voice echoing through the otherwise empty room. “Is it not to your liking?”

“No, no it’s wonderful,” Laurel grabbed one of the many forks and dug into the closest platter, hoping it was correct. Judging by the arched eyebrow Nadia gave her, it wasn't, but she had committed to using this fork.

Nadia took a sip of her wine, her lips stained with a darker red when she finished drinking. 

As Laurel took another bite, she glanced around, the quiet only pierced by the measured tick tock of a grandfather clock and the crackling of the fire.

“So,” Laurel started, then coughed. She took a sip from her goblet, the water sweet and clear as it rushed down her throat. “Uhm...Where is…”

“Everyone?” Nadia finished for her, her lips twitching. “My staff do not stay past sunset, as I request of them. I prefer they are back in the village safe and sound, lest the storms take them.” She took another sip of her wine and sighed. “My dear Magician, you do understand why I’ve called you here, don’t you?”

Laurel nodded slowly as she poked at what looked like potatoes, but was decidedly grey. “You summoned me because you want to stop the storms. You have reason to think magic may be involved, otherwise, why invite me?”

“What a clever girl you are,” Nadia hummed, pleased. “Not quite as simple as that, but that is the goal. If we are unable to stop them, I would like to know what is causing them.” Nadia took another long sip.  
“So far, the only clue I have is my husband’s unfortunate disappearance.” Nadia looked away, but didn’t look particularly bothered, and Laurel choked again on the gray stuff, which turned out to be delicious.

“I thought he’d died,” Laurel said once she had caught her breath. This seemed to startle Nadia, her eyes widening as they met Laurel’s. A flash of something brightened them, and then Nadia was back to her usual, refined self. She smiled cordially.

“But of course, that’s what I meant. How deeply unfortunate that was for us all.”

Laurel could have taken or left the Count, herself. She’d heard too many stories of undue cruelty, garish parties, orgies filled with blood.

A part of her was almost envious that she was never invited, but then she had been merely a child when he had died.

"We never did find out exactly how he died, and shortly after, the storms started,” Nadia continued, emptying her bottle into the goblet. “I feel I owe it to the people of Vesuvia - to people like you - to know why this is happening," her eyes met Laurel's directly, and Laurel dared not look away.

"So, yes, my dear Laurel. That is why I require your services. An esteemed magician such as yourself should be able to...crack this case, as it were?"

Laurel opened her mouth and closed it, feeling a bit like the fish staring up from the table. "Well...I do like mystery novels," she muttered, just loud enough that it still echoed in the empty space.

Nadia's laughter flew across the room, bright and startled, and then she raised her glass. "Laurel," she said. "I think I might enjoy keeping you around."

As dinner came to a close, Nadia still nursing the last few drops from her bottle, Laurel found herself suppressing a yawn. While the day had taken its toll on her, she loathed the idea of leaving Nadia's side, especially as she asked Laurel more about her procedurals and how she planned to use their tips and tricks for this deeply peculiar situation.

"It is usually the spouse that's the first suspect when there's a disappearance...or a murder," she said as they climbed the stairs.

Nadia hummed at that, a secret kind of smile on her face. "Well, if that's the case, then perhaps you're closer to solving it than you think."

Laurel stopped and stared as Nadia climbed past her.

"That was a joke, dear," she said as she stood upon the landing of the stairs, beckoning Laurel to her.

"Right, of course it was!"

Nadia walked her back to her room, their conversation lulling in the remaining lowlight of the hallway, the candelabra their only source of light once more.

As they stopped in front of Laurel's door, she muttered her good nights and grabbed at the handle. Nadia's hand covered hers briefly, drawing her gaze.

“Laurel, I must say, you have made a wonderful impression upon me,” Nadia cooed, her eyes hooded as she looked down at Laurel.

She felt the heat fill the apples of her cheeks at Nadia's praise.

"Of course, Countess- uhm...Nadia," she said, thankful for the lowlight that hid the red of her cheeks. "I won't let you down."

Nadia smiled, a closed mouthed quirk of her lips, as her hand cupped Laurel's cheek, thumb running over the flushed skin.

Her lips parted. "I'm sure you won't," she said, and Laurel's eyes caught a flash of her eyetooth in a flicker of candlelight, resting on the swell of Nadia's bottom lip.

“Pleasant dreams, Laurel. We can discuss this further in the morning.”

********

The wind cut through the thin chemise draped on Laurel's body, making her shiver. Her bare feet sunk into the grass as she walked, vision obscured by fog as she looked around. She saw the shape of the castle in the distance, felt its pull on her, urging her forward.

The wind picked up, tossing her hair around her face in tangled curls. Lightning flashed around her, breaking through the fog in a flash, and the thunder shook the earth beneath her.

She gasped, anxiety and cold working in tandem to slow her steps, make her heart race as fast as a hummingbird's wings. In the distance, she heard someone wailing, a wretched, ungodly sound, as if being pulled forcibly from one’s throat. It grew louder as she was pulled closer to the castle, her feet moving of their own accord. 

She forced herself to stop when she saw a figure hovering in the distance, just outside the doorway of the castle - the source of the wailing. Laurel kept herself frozen, hoping the figure didn’t notice her. And then it turned, and in a blur of grey, all she could make out were two piercing eyes in the otherwise suppressive darkness. And then they got closer, quickly, as the figure sprinted from the castle towards her, its wailing trailing after it.

Laurel felt herself cry out, voice muted and muffled, as if she were submerged in a pool of water. It felt close enough to drowning. She tried to turn - to run, but her feet wouldn’t go with her. She fell, reaching her arms out for purchase, gasping when they landed in another's grasp.

The world seemed to slow down, then stop, the wind calming as Laurel looked up at her savior, a goddess in black and gold. The goddess sneered over Laurel’s head, her teeth bared in warning, and the wailing figure faded, scampering off like a dog with its tail between its legs.

"Nadia," Laurel croaked, her voice unbearably loud against the sudden quiet. 

Nadia smiled, pulling Laurel up and against her with ease. Laurel was so chilled that the delicate press of fingers against the curve of her waist almost felt warm through her chemise. Despite the fog, the depth of darkness around them, Laurel felt a calmness envelop her, her eyelids fluttering as Nadia's face moved closer to hers.

She stared into bright red, until Nadia's eyes closed slowly as her head ducked down, nose trailing against the quickened pulse at Laurel's throat. 

Laurel closed her eyes in turn, her head guided back by an unseen force, held up by the cocoon of Nadia's arms.

Nadia paused, her lips just hovering over the line of Laurel's bared throat, brushing gently in the shadow of a kiss.

In her head, an echo of Nadia’s voice sounded, “May I have you?” Laurel shook, nodding her head against Nadia’s. The echo chuckled as it said, “Will you be mine?” Laurel gasped, her nods growing, becoming more fevered as Nadia’s hands held her fast.

“Can I keep you?” the voice echoed one last time.

"Oh, yes, please," Laurel gasped aloud, thoughts racing as Nadia fulfilled her request and pressed her lips firmly to her skin. Her lips opened over Laurel's pulse, sharp teeth - sharper than average, dragging gently down to Laurel's tied collar. The hint of pain lingered, making Laurel hiss, even as the ties on her chemise were undone, nimble fingers making quick work of them and the collar was eased from Laurel's shoulder, revealing the swell of her breast to the cold.

And then - pain. Sudden and sharp, enough to make Laurel cry out into the night. Her eyes shot open as she felt the skin of her breast tear, the pain followed by the softness of lips upon it. Nadia’s head stayed there, her mouth fixed to Laurel’s chest, suckling the blood from her as if it was precious nectar.

The pain - the burning - melted into a wave of pleasure, ice cold as it rushed through her veins, pulsing in the heat between her hips - and upon her breast, hot rivulets of blood dripped from Nadia's mouth and soaked into the fabric of Laurel's chemise.

********

Laurel woke with a moan, wanton and startling, and she slapped her hand over her mouth. She felt aflame, sweating and red, legs shaking with spasms. As she caught her breath, she blinked up at the canopy above the bed. The dream came to her in flashes of red and black and purple and red again. She could still feel the drag against her neck - the tenderness on her breast.

To calm her racing heart, Laurel placed her hand over it, breathing slowly. Until she realized her chemise was open. And wet.

She glanced down, gasping when the white of her chemise was stained pink. With shaking fingers, Laurel drew the chemise up to look further down.

And upon her breast, just over her heart, was a halo of dark lipstick neatly curled around two precise puncture marks.

**Author's Note:**

> Find my gay ass on [ tumblr](http://thesanguinerose.tumblr.com) and [ twitter](https://twitter.com/thesanguinerose)! [dab]


End file.
